He chuckled to himself and glanced at his watch. It was two in morning, and his dad had just finished cashing out and locking up his Indian restaurant on Kings Road. Like clockwork, he had left out the back entrance, then headed to his car—where Sandip was waiting.
“If this is about the money, Sandip, I told you, clean up your act, stop stuffing that shit up your nose, and your debts won’t be so high. You’ve got a family to support.” Tony struggled to breathe with the bag over his head.
“Shut up, after all I’ve done for you. Checking up on the properties, helping you keep things going. Don’t lecture me.”
Sandip started the engine of the car. He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve and sniffed hard. His cocaine high was in full swing. He drove as calmly as he could to an empty garage he rented, mainly to keep household things in. Once there, he opened it up, backed the car in, then dragged his sixty-year-old dad out of the back of the seat.
“Sit on the chair and don’t fuckin’ move,” he yelled.
“Sandip, if you think I’m helping you out after this, you’ve got another—”
Whack.
Sandip slapped his dad in the face with the back of his hand so hard, blood flew across the garage and splattered against the cold, concrete floor. Sandip pulled out his phone, then clicked on the video recording he had made.
“What’s this then?”
He held the phone up in front of his dad’s face. “You will give me that money. Otherwise, I’ll tell Mum about your little girlfriend.” Sandip pushed his face up against his dad’s.
“I’m living my best life, Son.” Tony watched the video of him and Chelsea having sex in the back of his restaurant. “I’ll be gone soon. We’re separated. Tell her what the fuck you want.”
Sandip saw red, dropped his phone, and then grabbed his dad by the collar. “You little, tight-fisted cunt. You gave all that money to Sanita for her wedding, packed her off to Australia to start a new life with her husband, and you can’t even help me out?” He shouted so close to his dad’s face, that spittle landed in Tony’s eyes.
“Your sister doesn’t have a drug habit or blow all her money on on-line poker. Get a grip boy, you don’t deserve it,” mumbled Tony through the blood that dripped from his mouth.
“Fuck you!”
Sandip saw red again, maybe it was the cocaine that took over, maybe it was his disdain for his dad, either way, he didn’t care. He let go of his collar and dropped him back in the chair.
Helpless, with his arms and legs bounded, Sandip grabbed the rusty screwdriver on the floor beside a box of tools. He raised it above his head, then plunged it into his dad’s eyes, neck, cheeks, and chest multiple times with no remorse.
Blood splatter jumped out on him and flew around the room. Several minutes later, he stopped, grunted, wiped his nose, and then grabbed his dad’s hair, to get a good look at his face.
“Don’t judge me, old man,” he screamed. “I see it in your eyes.”
Without a second thought, he gauged out his dad’s eyes with the screwdriver, one at a time, then dropped them on the floor.
He stepped back and looked at the unrecognisable body slumped in the chair. The head of his dad was bowed. Thick liquid gushed from his face and stab wounds in his chest. There was no chance of survival against the rageful attack, especially with his legs and hands bounded with rope.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He paced the floor.
He ran over to the garage door to check he had locked it. His high was coming down, and reality set in. Slowly, he turned around to face his dad’s body.
“I’ve fucked him up.” A small laugh escaped him.
Looking down at his blood splattered hands and clothing, he doubled over in laughter. A deep-seated ache stabbed through his abdomen, and then he spewed his guts out.
The contents of his dinner covered the floor. He breathed deeply and felt slightly dizzy.
“Shit, come on, man. Get it together.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
Squatting, he dug around in his sock, then removed a plastic wrap with white powder. He moved over to the car and cut up a small line of cocaine with a credit card. With a rolled-up note, he sucked it up his nose from the car’s bonnet.
Laughing again, he turned to his dad. “Finally, fucking rich!”
Sandip sighed, then ran a hand over his beard in deep thought.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with you now?”
In the corner of the room, the heavy-duty plastic he used to cover his car during the winter, caught his eye along with a box of latex gloves. He slipped on a pair to stop any of his DNA from transferring to the body, then he dragged his dad off the chair.
Thud.
His body hit the ground and bled out more.
Sandip stepped over the blood, headed over to the corner, grabbed the plastic, walked over to his dad and looked down at him. He kicked the lifeless body in the ribs, lowered himself to the ground, and then laughed in his face. “That’ll teach you, ya cheating bastard. You’ve no right to lecture me.”
He pulled himself to his full height. With a smile on his face, he unwrapped the plastic, then placed it over his dad’s bloody, mangled mass.
From inside the toolbox, he dug out some tape and wrapped his dad up like a Christmas present fit for the tree, dragged him to the car, slid him into the boot, then drove over to the common.
Once there, he turned off the headlights and drove through the open space at a snail’s pace. It was still dark. Dusk hadn’t broken yet, and his dark car camouflaged nicely into the inky darkness of the early hours of the morning.
After finding the perfect spot to park his car, he quietly and
